Observations on the One

Way rough draft, and a little late, I promise I wrote this yesterday, just getting around to posting now. Thanks

Observations on the One

Scent is a treasured sense.

Some forget that I treasure it and will abuse it upon entering

Some forget that their backpacks

Laced with the kindess of trees does not in fact mask any scent.

Most remember the unsaid rule

Sit one to a bench

Until its too full.

Then stand.

 

If you sit in the back long enough you’ll see the differences

Transit center in the shadow of the capitol

Shuffiling people to dialysis appointments at the Hospital.

Students, loud and on their phones

Shuttling to buy three season old clothing at the mall.

Turning back

Families who’ve spent the day

Window shopping and pretzel snacking

Only to shuffle back to the shadow of the few tall buildings

Not really skyscrapers

More like skypatters.

Able to lift a few suited men up high enough to feel superior

Only to know we can see them

Jacket twisted in the wind

That the One creates as it barrels down Michigan Avenue.

MK 04.04.13

Glass

A little rough but number 2/30. Here we go April, here we go.

Glass

On the day after the last freeze

When puddles are mirrors

Diesel trucks heave their last shards of salt

Cascade over the curb and mix into sidewalk cracks.

I crunch the last shimmering  salt crystals of the year.

There was a black squirrel

All mangled and innards strewn on the street.

Shards had ground his coat grey

Ice had flattened the body.

Down the street a woman bends

So far over I fear her balance will fail

Her dog lapping around a few feet away,

She is ageless at this angle

Red knit hat and full length down black jacket.

20 something picking up a phone

30 something picking up a forgotten child’s toy

40 something picking up dog feces

50 something picking up glass shards.

Big pieces that glinted in the sun

I get closer and see a vodka bottle

Has seen better times.

A faint memory in the night of coarse noise.

I imagine her dog jumped on a bigger slice.

That the kids who threw it last night didn’t mean to turn

Glass ground into pebbles lost in the salt.

I want to say I’m sorry to her.

Want to pick up every shard and pebble of glass

And salt.

I keep walking,

Making sure to only crunch the salt crystals.

 

MK 04.02.13

Apex

And so begins the most intense month of the year, April, aka National Poetry Month. Poets from around the world will be trying to write 30 poems in 30 days and I hope to make it through. Here is Day 1.

Apex

After Martin Espada’s “Crucifixion in the Plaza de Armas”

For Kevin Ware

 

By the bench I saw a black man

Use his prowess to hunt down his own dream.

Practicing his three pointer until the lights went dark

In the gymnasium where new sneakers become used.

Arrayed in rogue and pearl

Pushed with his body’s might to the apex of flight

Only to come down with his dreams

Into a pile on the floor in front of his brothers

Dismayed at rogue and pearl

Crowd traumatized into silence while they watch game become pain.

Brothers shed tears for their fallen leader

Strapped to a board and carried away.

 

MK 04.01.13